


It must be art

by dani_the_girl



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dani_the_girl/pseuds/dani_the_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's a prisoner on the Valiant, a plaything for the Master. He's not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It must be art

**Author's Note:**

> A year that never was fic. I wrote it a long time ago and left it, thinking it wasn't finished because I didn't want it to end there. Now I think it was finished, it's just that it's disturbing.

Ianto's eyes are like chips of ice as he stares along the barrel of the revolver. Jack hangs his head, not wanting to witness this end, this death. He slumps, only the chains holding him upright.

When Ianto speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, rusty with disuse. Jack jerks his head up again at the sound, stares as Ianto lowers the gun and turns towards the Master. "He kissed me, you know," Ianto says slowly. "Before he left, before he abandoned us." He pauses, eyes unfocused. No-one could blame him, Jack thinks, for taking any opportunity to be mentally elsewhere. The Master waits patiently, flicking a taunting glance in Jack's direction. Of course, the Master is a model of fucking patience, Jack thinks bitterly. "Can I..." Ianto starts to ask, but then tails off. The question is obvious.

The Master seems to consider it, but then smirks. "Why certainly, Ianto," he says, all generosity. "Be my guest." He starts to hum: Hold me, Thrill me...

* * *

Jack has been strung up for barely a month when they toss Ianto into the room. Bruised and bloodied, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, neither in good condition. Hands cuffed in front of him, gag buckled over his mouth, bare feet. They clip him into a leg iron and leave, sparing time only for a parting kick.

Ianto stays motionless, unconscious, for hours. Long enough for ration time to come and go. Jack begs them to check on him but apart from leaving a canteen of water, his attendants pay no attention. When he does finally rouse up, Jack wants to cheer. But then he hadn't realised what Ianto would be here for.

Those first days, weeks probably, Jack talks. He asks after the others, gets a head shake for Gwen and Owen, a shrug of the shoulders for Tosh which presumably means that Ianto doesn't know what happened to her. He doesn't ask after Martha.

He tells Ianto all about where he went, where he's been since he saw Ianto last. That's safe enough - the Master already knows it all anyway. He tells him stories of the Doctor and of Rose, stories of Torchwood agents now long gone. Inconsequential details of his own life through the twentieth century. Anything to reach out to Ianto in the way he longs to do.

At the longest extent of Ianto's leash, there is still half a metre between them. Gradually words become more and more inadequate and Jack dries up. The guards no longer come in to beat and torture him, to test his limits. They have a new plaything and they make full use of it. They cut Ianto and batter him and rape him until Jack's throat is horse with the yells that Ianto cannot utter.

And in between these times, the Master visits. He ignores Jack completely now, focuses only on Ianto. He handles him gently, carefully. Cleans and binds his wounds. Speaks to him softly. Takes off his gag to feed and water him. Dries his tears. After one particularly long and desperate heart to heart, the rapes stop. Jack can only assume that Ianto has asked for the Master's protection and been granted it. A week later, the beatings stop too.

In his head, Jack screams and rages. He imagines long denunciatory rants and impassioned speeches. None of them are delivered. He has seen this too many times to mistake it. He has done this in his past. He knows what the outcome will be. And he knows that he cannot change it. If he could give Ianto something to hold on to, some hope, then perhaps, but he knows better than to fall into that trap. When the Master finally takes Ianto away with him at the end of one of his visits, Jack almost welcomes the return of the guards attentions to himself.

* * *

Ianto turns back towards Jack and flips the safety on the revolver, tucks it into the waistband of his trousers. He steps forward to where Jack hangs, grimy and exhausted and beaten, suspended only because he cannot be terminated. Ianto reaches up both of his hands, places them on either side of Jack's face, cradling it. "You left us," he whispers. "And when you came back, this is what you bought us." He leans in.

Ianto's mouth is the opposite of his eyes, the kiss scorching. It's wet and sloppy and Ianto forces his tongue inside Jack's mouth, greedy to take whatever he can have, whatever is laid out before him. Jack shuts his eyes, tries to will himself elsewhere, but he can't. Ianto's lips hold him here, present.

Ianto breaks away, lets his hands drop from Jack's face, breathing hard. He steps back again, three paces, and Jack finds that he can't bear to look away. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

The Master snorts. "Touching," he sneers.

Ianto raises the gun again, staring at Jack for what feels like a long time before he says "So am I." He pivots to face the Master and pulls the trigger before the guards can reach him.

There is no explosion. No golden light of regeneration. Just the Master, giggling. The guards hold Ianto still, but he's not struggling anyway. "What on earth made you think I would give you a loaded gun," the Master says mockingly. He pulls out a gun of his own. "This one on the other hand..." He turns to look at Jack while keeping the gun firmly aimed at Ianto. "If we can't break your heart one way, I suppose a cruder but more direct route will suffice." He shoots Ianto in the chest.

Jack doesn't die. The Master loses interest in the experiment after a while and cuts out the heart to see if it has been materially affected. Whatever the results of this examination are, when he reawakens, Jack is not told them. In some ways, he thinks grimly, being dead on the inside makes the waiting easier.


End file.
